


Mutual

by miss_grey



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Casual Intimacy, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21776188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_grey/pseuds/miss_grey
Summary: Dick couldn’t help wondering to himself when exactly Nix had decided that Dick’s personal space had become their mutual space.
Relationships: Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters
Comments: 13
Kudos: 81
Collections: DDSherman Holiday Exchange for BoB 2019





	Mutual

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).

> Happy holidays! I hope this cheers you up a bit <3

_October 29, 1942: Camp Toccoa, GA_

They stood in the briefing, shoulder to shoulder, as Sink relayed, again, how happy Division was with the progress of the 506th. It was nothing they hadn’t heard before, but the words were nice, regardless. _Elite. Victory. Finest. _Dick enjoyed having those words applied to his performance and the performance of his men. So, really, the briefing wasn’t bad, but Dick couldn’t focus. Instead, he was acutely aware of every one of Nix’s minute movements. When Nix shifted, impatiently, on his feet, their shoulders pressed fractionally tighter and Dick could feel the warmth through the two layers of their uniforms. He could smell him—sweat and hair pomade and something warm and deep that was just Nix. Despite his antsy feet, Nix was the one actually paying attention today and Dick might’ve laughed except all his attention was fixed on that one point where their shoulders touched. Where they always touched. And he couldn’t help wondering to himself when exactly Nix had decided that Dick’s personal space had become their _mutual _space.

* * *

_October 24, 1942: Camp Toccoa, GA_

It was late when Dick made his way back to the barracks from the mess hall. He’d been overseeing clean-up, a disciplinary action that Sobel had handed out because second platoon hadn’t exceeded their previous time on Currahee by more than a minute. Dick thought it was petty—progress was progress, after all and Easy already had the best time in the regiment—but he knew it would only satisfy Sobel if he mentioned it. So, he carried on with his assigned extra duties quietly and competently, and let his work speak for itself. 

He was nearly there when he heard the scuffing of footsteps behind him, then huffed breath and a snort of laughter. He was halfway through a turn when Nix plowed right into his side, chuckling, and threw his arm around Dick’s shoulders. He’d been out on the town—it was a Saturday and he’d secured a coveted pass—and he smelled like alcohol. Dick was tempted to shrug him off and scold him for his obvious drunkenness, but Nix’s arm was warm where it draped over his shoulders, his side was warm where it pressed to Dick’s, and honestly Dick was just happy that his friend had made it back in one piece. Dick finished turning and found that Nix was gazing at him out of slightly-glazed, hooded eyes. A dopey smile graced his lips and he chuckled one more time before leaning in unsteadily, so close that his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of Dick’s neck. Dick shivered at the contact and the warm puff of air as Nix murmured, with good humor, “Going my way?”

Dick swallowed, thickly, at the reference and the closeness, and said “Yeah…looks like.”

Nix weaved back an inch so that he could meet Dick’s eyes again and the smile was clever, satisfied. “Great. Lead on.”

So Dick did.

* * *

_October 6, 1942: Camp Toccoa, GA_

Dick knew they weren’t the most popular among the men, but he actually enjoyed the overnight field exercises. He knew they provided a close simulation of combat marching and bivouacking, and they allowed him to more honestly assess the strengths of the men and where they needed improvement. And despite Sobel’s continued incompetence and barked orders disturbing the peace and quiet of the forest, Dick was having a good time. He was, at least, until the sun started to sink behind the horizon and the air grew chilled. Dick wasn’t a fan of the cold but maybe after they’d all pitched their tents and crawled inside them for the night, he’d warm up.

He oversaw his men, made sure the sergeants had everything under control, delivered his final report of the night to Sobel, and then returned to his tent, where he found Nix leaning against the tree just outside its flap. “Mind if I bunk with you?” He asked, before Dick had a chance to.

Dick shrugged. “That’s fine.”

“Good, because Hester won’t quit bitching.”

Dick snorted. “Not a fan of the field exercise?”

“Mosquitos. _Even in this cold, goddamnit. _Seriously, he won’t stop going on about it.”

“Well, you won’t get any complaints from me. I’m ready to sleep.”

Nix smirked. “Thanks. And me, too.”

True to their word, they both fell asleep within minutes of crawling into the cramped space of the two-man tent. Though the army had assured them the canvases were _meant _for two men, the Army’s idea of sufficient didn’t always align with a soldier’s. Regardless, they were out within minutes, wrapped in the relative warmth of their bedrolls, though Dick’s nose was pink from the chill and he couldn’t help the intermittent shiver.

He woke, once, in the middle of the night. He wasn’t sure what had woken him—whether it was the touch, or the slight snore, or the warmth—a welcome change from his previous condition. But he felt his eyes flutter open in the darkness and he took a moment to assess. He became aware, almost instantly, of many sensations at once: the long line of warmth pressed along his back, the heavy weight of an arm thrown over his waist, the damp heat of a breath ruffling the hair on the back of his neck, and just the slightest snore close to his ear. Sometime in the night, Nix had rolled closer. Dick knew he should probably push his friend away, but it was cold and it was just Nix, so he didn’t. Instead, he closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

* * *

_September 8, 1942: Camp Toccoa, GA_

The mess hall was crowded, clamoring with hungry officers and men. Dick and Nix sat at their own table, off to the side, and they took turns quizzing each other on questions from the manual Sobel had assigned the night before. They had a feeling that he would be testing them himself later that evening. Dick had done the reading, but he knew the practice would do him some good. Unlike Nix, who hadn’t really bothered but would somehow come out okay—a trick of his Dick had learned back in OCS. Dick was mulling a question, getting ready to respond, when suddenly Nix picked up his thin slice of coffee cake from his tray and deposited it on Dick’s own, before scooping Dick’s green beans onto his own tray. Nix didn’t ask, didn’t mention it, only continued waiting patiently for Dick to respond to his question. Dick tore his gaze away from his tray, smiling bemusedly, and answered.

* * *

_August 23, 1942: Camp Toccoa, GA_

They’d just finished running Currahee. _Again. _They were all soaked in sweat, their PT gear clinging, chests panting, grateful to have a moment to catch their breath. In the blessed shade of an oak, Dick pulled his canteen out of his pack, tipped his head back against the tree, and took a long, grateful gulp of the cool water. It felt like Heaven and tasted even better. He closed his eyes, sighing at one of life’s simple pleasures, which he’d always been mindful of but had learned new appreciation for in the Army. 

When he opened his eyes, he found Nix watching him, the man’s dark eyes roaming over Dick’s panting mouth, the canteen, the drip of sweat off his brow. Dick suddenly wondered how long Nix had been watching him. He swallowed thickly and offered Nix the canteen. Nix stepped forward and took it from him, their fingers brushing as he did. Still meeting Dick’s eyes, Nix tipped it to his mouth and took a drink.

* * *

_August 15, 1942: Camp Toccoa, GA_

It had been less than two months since they’d last seen each other, but somehow it felt a lot longer than that. Nix must’ve thought so, too, because when he caught sight of Dick at the barracks on their first day, he grinned, strode meaningfully forward, and wrapped Dick in a tight embrace, murmuring with an earnestness that was rare for him “Hey, Dick. It’s good to see ya.”

Slightly stunned, but also happy to see his friend, Dick returned the hug, his hands warm on Nix’s back and said, “Yeah, you too, Nix. It’s been too long.”

* * *

_June 30, 1942: Fort Benning, GA_

Dick huffed, checking his watch once more. Where in the world was Nix? If he didn’t hurry up, he was going to be late, and they were too close to the end of this thing for one of them to mess up now. He still had another five minutes before the commander was due—if he hurried now, he might be able to make it back to their barracks to find the other man.

Deciding to take the chance, he hurried back the way he’d come, but only made it a hundred meters before Nix barreled around a building and nearly ran into him. The other man’s cheeks were pink and he was out of breath. “Nix. Where’ve you been?” Dick demanded. “You were almost late.”

Nix flapped his tie at Dick before tucking it properly into his uniform. “Sorry, couldn’t find mine. Don’t know what the hell I did with it. I had to borrow your extra. Hope you don’t mind.”

Then he gripped Dick’s arm and tugged him back toward the parade field. Flabbergasted, Dick allowed himself to be pulled along.

They arrived with two minutes to spare.

* * *

_June 4, 1942: Fort Benning, GA_

They’d just finished a long, tedious class on navigation where Dick had had to fight to stay engaged. It wasn’t just the material. The officer running the lesson was also a bit of a showboat—he seemed more interested in his own ego than teaching the officer candidates. Dick didn’t have time for that and as the man had gone on and on, Dick had felt his frustration grow. Now, after they’d finally been released for their evening meal, he made his way quickly out of the building and toward the mess. As he stood in line, he felt Nix sidle up next to him. The man, who had actually seemed to do just fine in the lesson, clapped a strong, comforting hand to Dick’s shoulder and said “Hang in there, Dick. We’re almost through this.”

And, yeah, Dick realized, feeling the tension begin to drain from his neck and shoulders, Nix was right. They were almost through.

* * *

_May 2, 1942: Fort Benning, GA_

He shouldn’t laugh. He knew he shouldn’t. Moreover, he couldn’t. Couldn’t afford to laugh or roll his eyes or huff or even grin. It would be rude. It would cause trouble. It would definitely get him punished. And yet, the officer currently lecturing them kept mis-pronouncing “bivouac” and he seemed very fond of the word. He never would’ve done it—it just wasn’t his way, but it didn’t seem to stop Nixon from leaning over and murmuring, just loud enough for Dick to hear, “Man sure likes to camp.” 

Dick thought Nixon was crazy for daring to break silence, but he couldn’t help his own responding twitch of the lips. At least he wasn’t alone.

* * *

_April 27, 1942: Fort Benning, GA_

The path was near impassable, slick with mud and sucking puddles, clawing branches and treacherous roots. They were only on mile two of their five mile run. Dick paced himself, regulating his breathing, watching where he set his feet. The whole group of officer candidates were strung out on the path, wary to get too bunched up in this sloppy mess. Just ahead of him was a slightly shorter man with a narrower frame than him, dark hair, wheezing, panting breaths. Dick observed him for a minute as they ran and realized that he recognized him now—Nixon, Dick thought his name was.

They ran on and Dick eyed the slippery path, wondering when it might be a good time to try to pass the other man and start to use some of his reserve energy, when suddenly Nixon’s foot caught on a root, he yelped, and went sprawling. Dick faltered and the man behind him surged forward, passing them both. 

Dick slowed and approached the other man. “Here, let me help,” he said as he came around the side and reached a hand down. Panting and covered in mud, Nixon turned his gaze up to Dick. 

He studied Dick for a minute with his large, dark eyes—too long, Dick thought, since they were being timed—then cocked his head, smiling, and said, “Hey, thanks.” He reached up to clasp Dick’s hand and Dick pulled Nixon to his feet. 

**Author's Note:**

> Remember, dear readers, that comments are love! Please let me know what you thought :) Also, feel free to come say hi on tumblr. I'm @realhunterswearplaid.


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